


Swimming Up High (Flying Down Low)

by geckoholic



Series: kink bingo fills [5]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Complicated Relationships, Enemies to Lovers, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-27
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-06 06:54:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12206109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: Dick's cheeks flush with... he's not sure. There was no alcohol to cloud either of their memory and he remembers every dirty, debauched thing they did last night. And yet there's something indecent about watching this, now, like he's catching Jason in an intimate moment that he wasn't given permission to see.





	Swimming Up High (Flying Down Low)

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, two in one night. Momma's got a bingo to win, and the deadline is on Saturday, sooooooo, another fill for that season of kink bingo card. This one for _masturbation_ (why yes, my card was kinda vanilla this time around). And hey, it comes with visual inspiration, which I shall share with you because I'm nice like that. NSFW, obviously: [here](http://liscentia.tumblr.com/post/160793046075).
> 
> Beta-read by eternusmysterium and beta_lactamase. Thank you!! ♥ All remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title is from "Ugly Birds In A Beautiful Cage" by Kisschasy.

Dick wakes before his conscious mind catches up to his instincts, and it leaves him a little disoriented, uncomfortably so. He's instantly aware something rose him, something is different, there was a movement or a sound and it dragged him back to the surface. Well. Near the surface, because he's still bleary, and nothing quite makes sense. The view when he turns his face to the left is unfamiliar; here's supposed to be a window, the view is what centers him when he's had a bad dream and reality is slow to filter back in. The shape of the room is different, and he's puzzled by the way the mattress dips besides him, constantly, just a bit, not like someone getting into or out of bed, but... oh. _Oh._. 

He squints. It doesn't make sense because this isn't his bedroom. This isn't even his apartment. This isn't his bed, and he's not alone in it either.

Last night rushes back: the cold wind on a rooftop, the rough ground underneath him as he's on his knees before Jason, too impatient to wait, and then later, in this bed, legs wide as Jason fucks into him, slowly, then hard and vicious and so good Dick can still feel him. He turns around to his right for confirmation. He doesn't know Jason's body well enough anymore for the silhouette of him to still be instantly recognizable in the half-dark, but he recognizes the broad shoulders he has now and the messy curled hair he always had, and it registers, distantly, that Dick shouldn't be able to see all of him so clearly. There's no blanket in the way – that is pooled around Jason's legs. Next he notices the way Jason's hand moves, where he's turned away, and Dick's cheeks flush with... he's not sure. There was no alcohol to cloud either of their memory and he remembers every dirty, debauched thing they did last night. And yet there's something indecent about watching this, now, like he's catching Jason in an intimate moment that he wasn't given permission to see. Which is kinda stupid; if Jason chooses to masturbate here while Dick's lying beside him, then surely such permission is implied. 

Except Jason may have fallen into the same trap Dick did, and just stayed there a little longer. He even has the benefit to be on his home turf, recognize the room as his own, and also, he's got to be, uh, somewhat distracted. Woken up hard, moved to take care of it, and never considered to turn and find that he's not alone in his bed. 

Dick holds himself stock-still. He's unsure how to proceed, caught between the rising arousal that stems from the low noises of Jason's breathing, too fast and a little bit erratic, already affected by what he's doing. From watching his arm move in front of his torso and knowing what those movements mean, and from an irrational leftover fear. That's another instinct, trained into him a little more recently: Jason isn't safe. Jason is volatile. Jason can't be trusted. The boy Dick knew and loved is gone, and the man that returned in his stead might kiss him or kill him depending on his mood on any given day. 

But bad habits are hard to shake. Back then, it was falling in with another kid who had hardly settled into the new life he had been given, that occupied the room next to the one Dick had moved out of only months prior, and that had no idea who he was yet. These days it's the treacherous comfort of seeking Jason's company, talking to him and touching him and allowing himself to pretend things haven't changed, when in truth _everything_ changed. This Jason is a weapon and a killer, gleefully dancing on the wrong side of the lines Bruce drew for them all, teasing and taunting them with his mere presence, but it's so easy to buy into the illusion and let him back in. 

And last night, Dick gave way and let him back in all the way, into his heart and his body. Now he's not sure what's the correct reaction: allowing himself to trust, the way he wants to so, so badly, and let himself fall even further, or erring on the side of caution and sneaking out unnoticed. Maybe he'd even pull the latter off, what with how immersed Jason seems to be, how far gone, that he managed to forget Dick's here in the first place. 

In the end, he decides to take another leap of faith. He reaches out and gently places his palm between Jason's shoulder blades, says his name, sounding improperly loud in the quiet room. Jason goes rigid under his touch, and Dick holds his breath, waits. For what, he isn't sure. 

He startles when Jason moves away, and seconds later the room is dipped into the warm light of a bedside lamp that chases all the remaining shades of the early morning twilight away. Dick blinks and shifts as well, into a more stable position, poised to move if need be, get up, either by the other's demand or to parry a possible threat. As he moves, he feels the aftermath of everything they already did, his body aching and sore, and he's stupid and reckless enough for all that to coalescence into a fresh wave of arousal. 

Meanwhile, Jason is moving onto his back and searching for his gaze. He seems relaxed – one arm hooked under the cushion he's reclining against, the other laid between his legs, his fingers moving lightly, as if he just can't bring himself to stop touching, teasing, playing with himself. But there's something else in the way he holds himself, in his expression: an edge of tension that reveals his uncertainty, fear of rejection, a longing for comfort and acceptance that makes Dick's chest twinge in return. He's seen that exact look on his face many times before, back then, never sure if he was soothing that need or making it worse, cutting him deeper. Not for the first time he wonders what would have happened if Jason hadn't died, what they may have become, but that's a foolish train of thought. Wishing it won't make it so. They are who they are, now. 

Their eyes meet. Jason's lips curve up into a smile that is part lewd, part assuring, part inquiring. Dick smiles back, because everything else would be impossible, unthinkable. There's a question being asked here, an offer made, and it's not in him to decline it. 

Slowly, Jason's hand moves away, laid flat on his upper thigh, letting Dick look at all of him. He softened a bit, cock laying half-hard between his legs, and after a moment he sucks his lower lip between his teeth and takes himself in hand again. There's no show in it; he touches himself in a way that feels private, unheeded, like he'd have if he'd never noticed Dick's presence, if he was alone. He lets the full length poke through his fingers and teases the head, each finger sliding over the very tip before he's gripping it again and follows that up with a couple quick, rough strokes. He's moaning now too, hips working, head pressed back against the pillow, mouth falling open as his eyes fall closed. His other hand curls around the base, and from the way his fingers move it's clear that he's teasing his balls in time with pumping his cock. He might even tease down lower, rub at his hole. Dick could sit up and see, but that seems too greedy, too voyeuristic, and so he stays where he is, his gaze weaving back and forth between Jason's cock and his face, the pleasure and concentration visible in his expression. Dick's own hands are chastely resting on top of the covers, even though he's rock hard and _dying_ to touch or be touched. But that would destroy Jason's focus, the illicit illusion of witnessing something private, and Dick's not ready to do that. 

One leg bent, Jason adjusts his position again, giving Dick a better view as he grips his cock with both hands now, fucking up into them with abandon, much the same way he must have moved them when he was thrusting _into Dick_ only hours prior, and the idea nearly punches the air from Dick's chest. He bites his lips to keep from moaning, doesn't want Jason distracted, doesn't want anything disrupting the way the muscles in Jason's stomach ripple with each thrust, how he whines low under his breath every time he pushes the head through the tight ring made by his fingers. It's not long until he freezes, one hand flying out to grip at the sheet, the other smearing a bead of precome over the tip of his cock. This is it, his orgasm imminent, and Dick circles his hips in a futile search for friction from the thin sheet covering his body. 

Just before he starts moving his hand again for the final few strokes, Jason opens his eyes and turns his head. He grins, but it melts into a moan when he squeezes himself, all patience and technique blown to hell, reduced to chasing that last little bit of pressure that will push him over the edge. He's looking straight at Dick, holding his gaze when he pumps his cock through his orgasm, come stringing his stomach and dripping from the tip, over his hand. His lips curve up into another smirk, and then he's raising his hand to his mouth, licking it off, and that's too much, that's more than Dick can take. 

He leans over and grabs Jason's wrist, replacing Jason's mouth with his own, eliciting a string of breathless curses from him when he sucks his fingers between his lips and licks them clean. Once that's done, he kisses him, sharing the taste between them, and he makes good use of the new position by rutting against the mattress at the same time. 

Jason breaks away from the kiss, one hand wrapped around Dick's neck to keep him close. He smirks and  
looks down between them. “Want me to take care of that next?” 

His voice is rough, fucked-out, and that's a turn on in itself. Dick squirms, suddenly ashamed for how wantonly he's humping the mattress, tries to cover that with an easy grin. “Feel free.” 

“Actually,” says Jason, and the amused color to his voice means he's got Dick's number, can sense his embarrassment like an eagle circling prey. It was like that last night too; he can't hide anything from Jason. Somehow he's got him figured out even more than when they were boys. “How about I watch _you_ take care of it? Seemed to work for you, just now.” 

He doesn't wait for an answer, already pushing at Dick to make him roll over onto his back, and Dick goes without resistance. Because of course he'll give in, just as he's always done, might always do. They wouldn't be here right now, if that weren't the case. He lets himself be arranged until he's sitting up against the headboard, legs wide, held open by Jason's hands on his ankles. Dick feels his cheeks heat at the position, exposed and all too aware that Jason must see the aftermath of the previous night on him – he still feels messy and sensitive, in any case, and he closes his eyes against the sensation when Jason brushes a finger down his taint. 

“C'mon,” Jason encourages, and his voice sounds almost gentle. “You're a showman, a performer. You can do this for me. Touch yourself.” 

With how much Dick's cock is aching, precome already dripping down the shaft, that shouldn't be a difficult request. He _wants_ to come, wants to wrap his hand around himself and go for gold, but the way Jason looks at him makes him feel naked in a completely different way. His desire laid open, to be dissected, weighed and judged. And if anything it makes him more needy, more desperate. 

He wraps a hand around himself, doesn't move yet. Plays his thumb over the head, moaning with the sensation, and he knows this is going to be a short show. He's fit to burst already, could come from a sharp breeze. The first slow stroke sense a firestorm up his spine, and maybe it _is_ showmanship that causes him to find the thought of a quick, simple jerk-off unsatisfying. Jason wants a performance? Then Dick will to his best to give him one, even if it might turn out to be quite short.

Leaving his cock abandoned, Dick reaches lower. He's got no lube at hand but he's still open, hasn't showered yet so here's some left, smeared around him, inside him, and it's easy to slip a finger in, doesn't take too much effort to work in the second. He tries to go slow, not focus on his prostate so much, but his self-control is reserved for the job and completely on hold at the moment. It doesn't help that Jason watches him intently, all his attention on the way Dick pleasures himself before his eyes, and keeps breaking his own rules to randomly reach out and touch Dick's cock, his balls. 

He gets done embarrassingly fast, already so worked up from his turn at voyeurism earlier. He spills all over himself, and he's not even done coming when Jason lets go of his ankles and climbs on top of him to kiss him through it. 

Jason pulls him into is arms, after, apparently unconcerned by the fact that they're both sticky with come, should really clean up soon, and Dick relaxes into his embrace just as he did last night – just as he did all those years ago. And just the same, he doesn't worry about falling back asleep either, in the arms of someone who wouldn't hesitate much longer to kill him that he would to fuck him. There's no saying whether he'll still trust Jason tomorrow – whether Jason will still be trustworthy then. But it's not in Dick's design to stop trying, to stop giving him a chance and hoping for the best, even if it kills him.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr](http://lostemotion.tumblr.com).


End file.
